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1 





Book. 


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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




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Cheeky 

A PRAIRIE DOG 



By 

Josephine Sanger Lau 


PICTURES BY 

KURT WIESE 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 

albertXwhitman 

G" 4 CO 
CHICAGO 


1937 




lithographed in the u. s. a. 

hay -H 1937 

€>CI A 1 0631 5 ^ 





CHAPTER ONE 


C heeky stirred in his nest of dried grass. It was 
early in the spring, earlier than usual for baby 
prairie dogs, and Cheeky was cold. Though the 
snug little nest was several feet under ground, the air that 
reached it was chilled by the breath of snow, still lying 
on the mountain peaks to the north. 

Cheeky pulled his legs up under him and curled his 
stumpy brown tail about him as far as it would go, but still 
he shivered. Finally he roused himself, pushed in between 
his sisters and reached his mother’s side. A sip of warm 
milk comforted him and he went to sleep again to dream 
of the doings in his dark little cave nest; the squirmings 
and squeakings of two baby sisters, the fragrance of clean 
dry grass, and best of all, his mother’s warm kind presence. 

Early in the morning, Mother slipped away. She was 
very hungry for she had three husky youngsters to feed 
in addition to herself. 


[ 5 ] 


“Keep very quiet,” she crooned as she crept to the door. 

Cheeky stretched and yawned. Only the faintest glim¬ 
mer of light came down the long tunnel to the nest, hut 
Cheeky couldn’t see even that for his eyes were still closed. 
Mother was gone but the warmth of her body still lingered 
and he crept into the place she had just vacated, for an¬ 
other nap. Since there was nothing to eat, one might as 
well sleep. 

In a short time, an unusually short time, in fact, Mother 
returned. Cheeky could hear her scrambling down the 
steep little tunnel. She was scolding loudly. 

“Go away,” she chattered, “go and hide in your own bur¬ 
row! Don’t push yourself in where you’re not wanted!” 

The three babies were awake in an instant. There was 
a strange odor—a strange, thick odor of feathers that 
caused them to shrink back against the earthen wall of the 
nest and wait without a sound. 

Cheeky didn’t know why they did it, didn’t know why 
he was afraid. Nobody had ever told him that odor meant 
danger. It was just one of the things he knew because all 
of his ancestors had known it, ever since the beginning of 
things. 

There was the sound of a scuffle just outside the door 
of the nest. The strange odor was stronger, more terrify¬ 
ing. A sharp bark from Mother, an angry hiss, then all 
was quiet as Mother hacked into the nest. 

She was breathing hard. “Impudent Owl,” she chat¬ 
tered, “thinks he can hide in our burrow every time Hungry 
Hawk soars overhead!” 

She nuzzled the three babies as if to count them. 
“Thinks he can find a room here instead of taking the 
trouble to go to his own home!” 

[ 6 ] 



“Impudent Owl,” she chattered 















She sniffed at the door of the nest. “And I have no 
doubt he has done worse than that! I was sure there were 
four of you to begin with—I couldn’t have miscounted. I 
have no doubt he has taken free board as well as a room, 
when I was not around.” 

She continued to scold as she washed her family and 
hunted through the grass for any bit of trash or waste. 
“He’s back there in the end of the tunnel, just where I want 
to put my sweepings. How can a body keep the house clean 
with such a worrisome roomer about? He has probably 
settled down for a long nap! And I hadn’t half finished 
my breakfast!” 

One day Cheeky opened his eyes, just a very little. At 
first he was conscious of only the faintest sensation of light. 
He turned toward it, moving his head from side to side. His 
sisters, he noticed, were doing the same. From day to day, 
the openings in their eyes grew larger until at last they 
were round and bright. Immediately Cheeky became 
restless. 

“Don’t leave the nest,” Mother warned. “The world is 
still cold, much too cold for baby prairie dogs.” 

Cheeky tumbled away from her pushing nose. He 
would, he knew, lose no time in getting into the light. Al¬ 
ready his fat little body was shaping itself, his legs growing 
more steady. One day he slipped away. His sisters were 
sleeping quietly. 

“I’ll just run along the hall,” he thought, “just a little 
way, to see where the light comes from.” 

For three or four feet, the hall was level. It was a long 
journey for a baby prairie dog who had just learned to use 
his legs. He wobbled and bumped his fat little body against 

[ 8 ] 


the wall of the narrow tunnel. At last he came to a turn 
and the hall sloped sharply upward. 

Cheeky blinked and sniffed as he stood at the foot of 
the incline. The air was clean and cold, and the steep pas¬ 
sageway was lighter than the hall behind him. Suddenly 
a bit of loose earth came tumbling down and rolled almost 
to his feet. It was a sound he had never heard before. 

He turned with a clumsy flop, kicking against the wall 
in his panic, and scrambled back down the hall. In his haste 
he passed the door of the nest and ran on blindly until at 
last he bumped his nose against the end of the tunnel where 
Mother always stored her sweepings. The odor of Sleepy 
Owl still lingered and he turned again in terror. At last 
he tumbled into the nest and cuddled down between his 
sleeping sisters. 

“I’ll never leave the nest again,” he chattered to him¬ 
self, “danger is in the light.” 

Cheeky’s memory was short. The very next day he was 
out and running along the dimly lighted hall. This time 
his legs were a bit steadier. His sisters came, too, and they 
tumbled and romped with greater freedom than they had 
found in the nest. Each day they ventured a little higher, 
a little closer to the world. 

It was Cheeky, of course, who first poked his inquisitive 
little nose out of the door, then clambered to the top of the 
crater-like mound that surrounded it. 

The world was filled with strange smells and sounds— 
the sharp fragrance of sage and the pleasing odor of clean, 
washed earth. A meadow lark trilled from the top of a 
fence post near by. 

Mother was nibbling sage brush tips close at hand. She 
caught sight of Cheeky. 


[ 9 ] 


“Stop,” she barked, and the little fellow turned to stone. 
He sat up on his hind legs precisely as she was doing, and 
braced himself against his stumpy little tail. He looked up. 
High in the blue, blue sky circled a black speck. Nearer 
and nearer it came until it hovered directly above his head. 

“Skip, skip, skip,” commanded Mother. 

Cheeky lost no time in tumbling back into the doorway. 
Down he went, bumping and rolling, until at last he fell 
over his sisters at the foot of the steep tunnel. 

Mother followed. 

“What was it?” Cheeky gasped as he crowded close 
to her. 

“Hungry Hawk,” was the answer. “You must never 
venture far from your own front door when he is in sight.” 

Outside Cheeky could hear other prairie dogs barking 
sharply; then suddenly, as if the earth had swallowed them, 
every voice was stilled. 

“What has happened?” Cheeky asked next. 

“Hungry Hawk was looking for a tender young prairie 
dog. His nest is in the rocks, high up on the mountainside. 
He probably has babies to feed. He would have been very 
glad to catch you outside.” 

Cheeky shivered. The world wasn’t entirely a place of 
pleasant smells and sounds. Danger was there, too. It hov¬ 
ered in the beautiful blue sky above him. With that knowl¬ 
edge, Cheeky’s babyhood definitely ended. 





CHAPTER TWO 

It was not in Cheeky’s nature to worry. When he awoke 
from a short nap to find Mother gone, he immediately 
started back up the tunnel. A short distance from the top, 
was a small nest, or anteroom, dug out of the earth. Here 
Cheeky stopped to listen before he ventured into the light 
again. 

Mother was sitting in the shade of a clump of soapweed. 
Its long, slim, needle-pointed spires protected her without 
obstructing her view of the sky above. 

“Come here,” she called as Cheeky’s bright brown eyes 
peeped cautiously over the edge of his front porch. 

When he reached her side, she plucked a blade of the 
curly gray buffalo grass that grew in patches all about her. 
“Try a bit of this.” 


[11] 


Cheeky sat up, precisely as she was doing, and ate the 
grass from his soft little paws. It wasn’t bad at all. It was 
juicy and tender and reminded him of the warm sweet milk 
that had been his only food heretofore. Besides, it was fun 
to be moving his jaws and the businesslike crunching of his 
sharp little teeth sounded pleasantly in his own ears. 

He looked all about as he ate. The village was a cluster 
of mounds, like the one around his own front door. On all 
sides were other little creatures very much like Mother. 
They all wore faded tawny brown fur coats, very much the 
color of the adobe soil in which they lived, with darker 
shadings on their heads, especially above their eyes. The 
tip of each tail was decorated with black. 

Par to the east, a high wire fence extended from north 
to south. Beyond that lay a field of brightest green. To the 
north, the Old Pasture ended in a dense thicket of mesquite 
and greasewood. Rocky Hill lay to the west, its barren 
sides dotted with sage and cactus and gravel mounds made 
by the big red ants. 

Everywhere prairie dogs chattered and barked, running 
about from one burrow to another. Cheeky was fascinated. 
He found it hard to pay attention to what Mother was 
saying. 

“Remember,” she told him, “that Hungry Hawk has a 
far-reaching eye; but it is impossible for him to see you 
if you are perfectly still. He will think you a bit of grease- 
wood stump or sage brush. If you are close to home, run. 
If you are far away, sit still and wait for him to leave.” 

Cheeky promised to remember, then his mind returned 
to the world about him. 

“Mother,” he asked, when he had lost interest in the 
[ 12 ] 


business of eating, “who is the big prairie dog that sits on 
his front porch and watches in every direction?” 

“That is Wish-ton-Wish,” Mother replied. “He is mayor 
of Dog Town because he is wise and strong.” She looked 
proudly at her son. “Perhaps some day you will be mayor, 
for you too are very strong. If only danger does not catch 
up with you before you learn wisdom!” She sighed. “You 
are very like your father.” 

Cheeky had reason to remember that remark. One day, 
when the wind was blowing from the east, a most delightful 
odor tickled his nose. 

“What is it?” he asked as he lifted his head and sniffed. 

“Alfalfa,” Mother told him. “It is far away in the field 
beyond the fence, much too far for you to go. Besides, it 
belongs to the man.” 

That should have been enough, but Cheeky just couldn’t 
get away from that smell. He blinked longingly every time 
he looked at that faraway field of green. Mother was 
always sending him home, as if he were a baby. Sometimes 
he was sent home for no better reason than that Turkey 
Buzzard was soaring overhead. Everybody knew that 
Turkey Buzzard never caught anything. He just ate what 
somebody else had killed and left lying on the prairie. 
Mother was too timid. He would go a little way and if he 
saw anything to be afraid of, he could come home. 

He looked all around. His mother and sisters were 
frolicking under some sage brush nearby. Even Wish-ton- 
Wish was gossiping with his neighbors. There wasn’t a 
speck in the sky; not a twig stirred in the mesquite. There 
was nothing to keep a venturesome young prairie dog at 
home. 


[13] 


He loped away, much like a rabbit, then sat up on his 
hind legs to look about him. Again he ran and again he 
looked. The green field was much closer, when his atten¬ 
tion was attracted by a curious-looking object lying in the 
sun on a low flat rock. For a moment, he sat up and watched 
without moving a muscle; then he got down on his four 
feet and crept closer. 

“Strange,” he chattered, “it looks just like a bit of 
twisted wood, gray and spotted! But why should it be lying 
on that rock? It can’t be danger, for Mother has never 
warned me against things that lie in plain sight in the sun¬ 
shine. I’ll just have to investigate.” 

Investigating was one thing that Cheeky loved to do. 
Besides, the wind had stopped blowing and the odor of 
alfalfa no longer tickled his nose. 

Nearer and nearer he came. Suddenly, from the center 
of the strange coiled thing, came a queer rattling noise and 
Cheeky leaped back. He sat up and waited a long time. 
Nothing happened. Again he ventured closer. It was such 
a curious thing—must be a stick. And yet, there was that 
queer rattling noise. Perhaps the wind stirred a dry leaf. 

He was just stretching his neck to get a closer look, 
when suddenly a head lifted—an ugly flat head, with black 
wicked eyes. A forked tongue darted toward him. The 
neck began to swell and puff while a sharper skirring, like 
the crackle of fire in tumbleweeds, came from the middle 
of the coil. 

For one awful instant, Cheeky stared, into those cold 
black eyes, too terrified to move. 

“Skip,” shouted Mother behind him. “Don’t look. Skip, 
skip, skip!” 


[14] 



Suddenly a head lifted—an ugly, flat head 




Cheeky was so startled that he managed to do as he was 
told. He turned with a flip and his fat little legs moved 
with surprising speed as he followed Mother back to the 
village, never stopping until he had tumbled into his own 
front door. 

“What was iff’ he whispered as Mother scolded and 
petted him. He was shivering as if he were cold. Mother 
too was trembling. 

“A strange creature that is hated by every living thing. 
He hears with his tongue and speaks with his tail but 
death is in his teeth. His name is Rattlesnake. He is still 
sluggish from his long winter’s sleep, else he would surely 
have caught you. Do not go so far again. If you do, danger 
will surely find you.” She sighed. “You are so like your 
father.” 

Cheeky thought for a moment. “Mother, where is my 
father?” he asked. 

Mother waggled her short furry ears. “Who can tell? 
He went to the alfalfa field on the other side of the fence. 
El Coyote lives in the mesquite. He is a slinking gray thief 
and he lies in wait for prairie dogs who wander away from 
the watchful eye of Wish-ton-Wish. 

“Now let us go outside. Eat your buffalo grass. Do not 
turn your eyes so often toward the alfalfa field. Remember, 
danger is waiting on the way.” 

Cheeky longed to ask many more questions but Mother 
hopped away to talk with a neighbor, and he decided to 
join a game of hide-and-seek around the sage brush in the 
middle of the village. 

Rattlesnake, however, was not to be so easily forgotten. 
On the following morning, Cheeky’s attention was attracted 

[ 16 ] 


by the sudden hush that fell upon the village. He ran to 
his front porch and sat up to look. Rattlesnake was com¬ 
ing! Coming to the village! His long scaly body writhed 
from side to side as smoothly as running water. His head 
was lifted slightly as he advanced, slowly, surely. 

Every prairie dog sat as if turned to stone. Even the 
voice of Wish-ton-Wish was silent. Cheeky longed to hide 
but he did not think of entering his own front door. That 
was one of the things he knew he should not do—knew it 
because his grandfathers had learned it way back in the 
beginning of time. 

Cheeky’s bones seemed to melt as he met the stare of 
those cold black eyes again and heard the rustling of that 
long whip-like body as it made its way over the rough 
ground. Rattlesnake came at last to a mound in the middle 
of the village. Without an instant’s hesitation, he lifted 
himself to the top of the little front porch and disappeared 
into the hole. 

Cheeky was seized again with that strange fit of trem¬ 
bling. He didn’t know—he never would know—he could 
only hope that nobody was at home in that burrow. 





CHAPTER THREE 

The days grew warmer. Mother changed her heavy tan 
winter coat for a darker summer fur. It was of coarse 
brown hair, with lighter tan fur underneath. It wasn’t 
beautiful, but it was cool and comfortable. 

Cheeky grew strong and active on a diet of buffalo grass 
and sage brush tips. Indeed, he ate so much that the 
patches of buffalo grass around his home grew few and 
scanty. There was plenty of grama grass if one were really 
hungry, but it was tough and coarse. Once Cheeky was 
tempted by the bright green'of the broad-leafed cactus. 
But it pricked his nose dreadfully, and the burn remained 
so long that he never tried again. 

He became a very sociable little animal. It was pleasant 
to visit among his neighbors, with Wish-ton-Wish perched 
on top of his front porch to warn them of danger. Some¬ 
times Cheeky quarreled with other young dogs, but never 
for long. It was too hard to remember what the quarrel 
was about. 


[18] 



It was pleasant to visit among his neighbors 






He never missed an opportunity to scold Sleepy, the 
little burrowing owl, who loved to sit in the sun with his 
eyes closed, his head drawn back against his shoulders. 
Sleepy didn’t see very well in the daytime, and at the first 
alarm he would slip into the nearest burrow. Cheeky was 
very angry when it happened to be his home into which 
Sleepy dropped uninvited. However, it was some satisfac¬ 
tion to scold. He felt fairly safe, too, as long as he didn’t 
come too close to that sharp, hooked beak. 

One evening, just as the sun was going down behind 
Rocky Hill, El Coyote trotted through the village on his 
way to the mesquite thicket. Wish-ton-Wish gave the 
alarm. It was the signal for every prairie dog to run to his 
own front porch; there, in perfect safety, to give voice to 
the age-old hatred of the hunted for the hunter. 

“You robber, you slinking gray thief,” Cheeky shouted 
till his whole body shook, “you eater of harmless creatures!” 

The prairie dog teetered on the edge of his front porch. 
His enemy was very near. 

As Cheeky continued to shout, suddenly El Coyote 
stopped, turned, sat down, and yawned right in his face! 

It was too much. Cheeky’s anger died in a smother of 
fear. He plunged through the doorway and scurried down 
the steep tunnel to the nest of his babyhood. There he slept, 
cuddled against Mother. And he dreamed of cruel yellow 
eyes, gaping jaws, and gleaming white teeth. 

Occasionally great creatures with switching tails and 
slowly bobbing heads trampled across the village. Some¬ 
how, Cheeky knew he had nothing to fear from them, 
though they were many times larger than El Coyote and 
had great horns growing out of their heads. He always sat 

[ 20 ] 


on his front porch and scolded at the top of his voice when 
they came near, though they paid him not the slightest 
attention. 

One day he saw the man, walking behind the cattle. He 
was driving them toward the alfalfa field. 

Cheeky was quite a distance from home, but he knew 
the cattle were harmless so long as he kept out of reach 
of their swinging heads. The man, too, moved slowly, so 
the prairie dog shouted, “Go away! Stay on your own side 
of the fence!” 

Nobody even looked at him and he shouted again, jerk¬ 
ing his short little tail at every bark. “Go away! Don’t 
walk through my village!” 

Suddenly a booming voice answered his challenge and 
from behind the man darted a great shabby creature, the 
like of which Cheeky had never seen before. And he didn’t 
stop to look now! Without another “cheek-chuck,” he 
darted toward home. The great beast followed, barking at 
every leap, taking more ground in one jump than Cheeky 
could cover in ten. 

That full-throated bark gave wings to the prairie dog’s 
feet. Once he darted around a big cactus patch and his 
pursuer stopped for a moment to sniff. 

Home was just ahead, the beast right at his heels. 
Mother sat on the front porch, “cheek-chucking” as loudly 
as ever she could. So was Wish-ton-Wish and every other 
prairie dog in the village and what a racket it made, with 
the creature behind him barking loudest of all! 

Just as he reached the porch, Mother gave one last hur¬ 
ried “cheek-chuck” and flipped over out of sight. Cheeky 
followed in a flurry of dust and flying heels. Down he went, 

[ 21 ] 


clear to the end of the incline, where he lay gasping for 
breath. When he lifted his head, Mother was combing her 
whiskers, apparently not too much concerned. 

“What was it?” Cheeky asked. 

“Just Ring, the dog.” 

“Not a prairie dog,” Cheeky argued. “Why, he was 
larger than El Coyote!” 

Mother continued to comb her whiskers. “He is no re¬ 
lation to us. We are not dogs, really. We are called that 
because we bark like them. We belong to the squirrel 
family. The dog chases us often, but he barks all the way 
and he never catches anybody. I think he is related to El 
Coyote but he is much more respectable than his gray, 
bushy-tailed cousin.” 

Cheeky felt somewhat ashamed of his panic. However, 
he knew that if ever he saw Ring again, he would say less 
and run sooner. He could hear the great creature now, paw¬ 
ing their lovely front porch to pieces, pretending he was 
going to dig them out of their home. 

Cheeky didn’t worry about that. He knew he could dig 
faster than any dog, for his claws and teeth were long and 
strong. Mother, however, clucked angrily. That crater¬ 
like mound was very necessary in case of rain. It kept the 
water from washing down into their home. 

In a few minutes, the man whistled and Ring went 
away. Every prairie dog in the village came out at once to 
gossip and scold about his visit. Cheeky, however, had no 
time to talk. He was obliged to help Mother repair the 
front porch, placing the dirt and ramming it into a hard 
wall with his blunt little nose. 

[ 22 ] 





Cheeky followed in a flurry of dust 


'/•iid 




CHAPTER FOUR 

Repairing porches was hard work and Cheeky slept late 
the following morning. He knew, as soon as he popped his 
nose out of the door, that something exciting was happen¬ 
ing in Dog Town. The man was coming again! 

Cheeky balanced himself against his stumpy brown tail 
shouting, “Go away! Stay on your own side of the fence!” 

“Don’t bother your head about something you can’t 
help,” Mother advised as she plucked blades of buffalo 
grass and sat up very straight to eat them. “When the man 
comes with his horses and turns the world upside down, 
prairie dogs must move.” 

She crept to another patch of grass. “Long before you 
were born, I lived in the field on the other side of the fence. 
After the man came with his horses and dragged the shin¬ 
ing claw over the earth, there was a terrible flood. ‘Irrigat¬ 
ing,’ he called it. We escaped just in time, for every home 
was filled with water. This time, we will not wait. We 
will move at once to Rocky Hill. We shall not have as much 
to eat, but there will be nothing to fear, save Hungry Hawk 
and El Coyote.” 

Cheeky was stubborn. He chattered angrily as Mother 
hopped away. He turned to watch the man who, strangely, 
had paid no attention to his challenge. Back and forth he 
worked. 

Cheeky saw the homes of his friends overturned and 
filled with earth. Why, it was outrageous! Every furrow 
was bringing him closer to Cheeky’s home in the Old Pas¬ 
ture where prairie dogs had built their towns more years 
ago than Cheeky’s oldest grandfather could remember. 

Perhaps the man hadn’t seen him, he thought. Perhaps, 
[ 24 ] 


because lie sat so straight and still, the man thought he 
was a bit of sage brush stump. If a prairie dog could fool 
a hawk that way, why not a man? Cheeky didn’t scold any 
more. He sat still and watched as long as he dared. 

Nearer and nearer came the horses, dragging the great 
shining claw behind them, bringing with them a pleasant 
smell of freshly turned earth. But Cheeky wasn’t inter¬ 
ested in smells. He teetered for a moment on his hind legs, 
gave a last defiant little bark, and did a flip-flop through 
his front door. 

He crept down the long steep tunnel to his own little 
bedroom. No shining claw could reach him here, he knew. 
He could hear the heavy tramp of the horses coming closer 
and closer; then they passed him by as another furrow was 
ploughed. He sputtered angrily each time he heard them 
until at last they were directly over his head, and he knew 
from the rattle of loose earth that the lovely smooth mound 
he had worked so hard to repair was being torn to bits. 

He muttered in the darkness and waited. Occasionally 
he slept, but always the return of the horses wakened him. 
Finally he got up and crept uneasily along the narrow hall. 
Outside the sun was shining and Cheeky dearly loved sun¬ 
shine. He longed to run about among his neighbors, visit¬ 
ing and nibbling buffalo grass. He sighed. No doubt the 
whole town had moved to Rocky Hill. He almost wished 
he had gone, too. 

At last the horses went away and didn’t come back. 
Cheeky ventured to climb the steep little tunnel to his 
front door. Just as he expected, it was filled with earth. 

He sat down to think. “I’ll have to dig myself out. The 
horses have gone; perhaps they will never come back. I’ll 
make another door and then I’ll get my supper.” 

[ 25 ] 


It didn’t take long to push the crumbled earth away. 
In a few minutes he poked his little brown nose out of the 
tunnel and sneezed. It was nearly dark and he didn’t like 
to be out late, but he must have something to eat. 

He sat up and looked around the Old Pasture. Oh dear, 
everything was so different! Not a bit like home, and 
Cheeky began to have a very bad feeling deep in his heart. 
It wasn’t hunger, exactly, but a queer, empty feeling, as if 
he were the only little brown prairie dog in the whole world. 
A loose clod of dirt slipped and he flopped back into his hole 
without even stopping to look around. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he told himself and 
he gained courage at the sound of his own voice. That was 
what he missed most—the sound of voices. Again he poked 
his nose out and looked around. 

It wasn’t easy to get his supper. Truly, the whole world 
had been turned upside down and all the grass was covered. 
Even the cactus and sage had been uprooted. It was an 
outrage—a real outrage—that a self-respecting prairie dog 
should be obliged to dig for his food like a common gopher! 

At last, however, his stomach was filled and he hopped 
back to his hole. There was no longer a front porch or even 
a good-sized doorway. But Cheeky felt more cheerful. 

“I’ll build up that front porch tomorrow,” he thought 
as he sat up and looked around. 

The light was fading from the sky above Rocky Hill. 
Mother was there, and all the others. Even Wish-ton-Wish 
had not dared to stay. 

“Perhaps they’ll come back,” he chattered to himself, 
“when the grass has grown again.” 

He pattered back to his nest and was soon fast asleep. 

[ 26 ] 



sept!?--' ■■***oi$S** 






;3f**^f^ / **i '' 






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Si: 


s&£ up 


and looked around the Old Pasture 





CHAPTER FIVE 

Cheeky was lonesome. Every morning he got up at day¬ 
break to dig for his breakfast. It took a long time, for 
Wish-ton-Wish was not there to warn him in case of pos¬ 
sible danger. Cheeky had to look out for himself. It meant 
that he must stop work every few minutes to look around— 
up in the air for Hungry Hawk and behind every clod for 
El Coyote. 

In addition, the man would come and all day long 
Cheeky was obliged to hide in his burrow or spend his time 
scolding from his new front porch. It was very tiring, and 
with nothing to eat all day, he began to grow thin. 

Days passed—a whole week of them. As the man offered 
him no harm, Cheeky gradually lost his fear. He kept very 
still when this huge creature was near, but he managed to 
snatch a few bites between times. 

One morning the man spoke to him. “Hi, young fellow, 
are you still here? I thought prairie dogs knew enough to 
move when they weren’t wanted! Better leave before you 
get a wetting.” 


[ 28 ] 


Cheeky hadn’t waited to listen. He’d been unusually 
careless and the man had come very near. The only answer 
he made was a startled little “cheek-chuck” as he flipped 
over backward through his front door and crept down into 
his bedroom for a nap. 

He was having a delightful dream about being up on 
Rocky Hill with Mother and the others. They were playing 
hide-and-seek among the rocks, when a queer noise made 
his ears twitch. They wiggled restlessly for a minute or 
two and all the time the noise grew louder. Suddenly he 
was wide awake and listening! 

A queer rushing sound came to Cheeky that he had 
never heard before! Because he had never heard it before, 
he knew it meant danger. It was coming—coming as boldly 
as Rattlesnake—right down through his own front door! 

It was a splashing gurgling sound that made him hurry 
into the hallway to investigate. Water! He could smell it 
now! But it couldn’t he raining! Rain trickled slowly, just 
enough to make his nest comfortably cool and damp. This 
sound was louder than that—much louder. There was some¬ 
thing threatening about it, and Cheeky raced for the door 
without even stopping to brush his whiskers. 

Only a little way he went, for the water was coming 
toward him. He turned and started back, but by that time 
the water was close behind! 

“Mother!” he shouted before he had time to think. 

Back and forth along the hallway he dashed. “This is 
the worst,” he panted, “the very worst thing that could 
possibly happen! I just know I shall get soaking wet, and 
I’ll have to swim to get out of here!” 

He shivered in panic, for Cheeky had no use for water. 

[ 29 ] 



He never took a drink, and as for bathing, well, it simply 
wasn’t done in Dog Town. 

For another moment he hesitated and drew his paws 
back from the advancing stream. But there wasn’t any 
place to go and Cheeky drew a good deep breath, closed his 
eyes, and plunged in. 

Br-r-r, but that water was cold! He had never known 
anything so disagreeable. It climbed up around his stom¬ 
ach, to his neck, even to the tip of his nose. It tried to drag 
him back but Cheeky dug his claws in hard and climbed 
as fast as posssible. All at once, the water came faster, until 
the entire hole was filled and even Cheeky’s nose went 
under. He swam frantically, fighting hard against the rush 
of water. At last, he never knew why, it stopped pulling 
at him and he managed to reach the top! 

[ 30 ] 






T ' 




mm 






V'#.-«V. 

C •>v^\ 


-?* »r^'...>^v ' j 






raftSfe-. 


ppa* 






■^^*- *< 




■ 

'''•••<' •••• • *> >•■■ 

V^‘,T*5 ph&*4*S& 


He swam frantically 











He gasped and panted and sputtered. It seemed as if 
he could never get enough of that clean warm air into his 
lungs. Shaking the water from the end of his nose, he 
opened his eyes. Then came another rush of water, and 
poor Cheeky was caught up again! 

Down the furrow it swept him, tossing him this way 
and that, sometimes swinging him against dry earth, but 
never giving him time to get a foothold. On he went, chok¬ 
ing and kicking, until at last he stopped in a tiny cove and 
dragged his limp little body out of danger. 

As soon as he could catch his breath, he looked around. 
“Now I know,” he gasped, “what Mother meant by a flood!” 

He was dreadfully tired and he puffed, just as he had 
when he finished his race with Ring. He closed his eyes 
because they just wouldn’t stay open. 

“I’ll lie still and rest,” he thought, “for a few minutes. 
Then I’ll see if I can find some way out of this flood.” 

But Cheeky didn’t rest long—at least, not on the narrow 
ridge between furrows. He was roused very suddenly by 
the feeling of strong warm fingers closing about him, lift¬ 
ing him up, up, up! 

“Hungry Hawk!” he gasped as he opened his eyes. He 
tried to kick, but his legs were limp. Moreover, the fingers 
were gentle, not like the terrible claws of a rough-legged 
hawk. 

“Well, well, young fellow,” said a voice so close to his 
ear that it sounded like thunder, “I thought I told you to 
move this morning.” 

The man who had spoken wiped Cheeky’s muddy brown 
coat. “Now I think I’ll just pop you into my pocket and 
take you home to Mary Ellen.” 

[ 32 ] 


CHAPTER SIX 

Cheeky lay quietly where he was placed. It wasn’t, he 
decided, such a bad place, this warm dry pocket. He was 
getting warmer and dryer every minute. Indeed, he’d have 
felt right at home if the pocket hadn’t kept lurching and 
bobbing about in such a disconcerting manner. He could 
hear the water splashing and sloshing far below as he was 
carried from place to place. Cheeky shivered at the sound 
and curled into a comer. 

It seemed hours and hours before the boots carried him 
out of the mud and started to crunch across dry ground. 

“Perhaps we’re going to Rocky Hill,” thought Cheeky. 
“I’d better be looking about.” 

He poked an inquiring nose this way and that. What— 
no door to this nest? He’d have to make a door; dig himself 
out as he had done the day his front porch was torn down 
by the shining claw. 

He sniffed, turning round and round to find a place to 
begin. He tried to dig, but his claws got caught and he had 
a dreadful time before he could get them free. It was most 
astonishing! Cheeky had never had any experience with 
the material that surrounded him. No, neither had his 
mother nor any of his ancestors, so of course he didn’t know 
what to do. He was getting downright angry and excited 
about it when suddenly the world stopped turning somer¬ 
saults, and the big voice spoke again. 

“Got a surprise for you, Mary Ellen! Cutest little rat 
you ever saw!” 

Rat, indeed! It was lucky Cheeky didn’t understand or 
he would certainly have resented that. He hacked away 
from the groping fingers until he couldn’t back any farther. 

[ 33 ] 


“Hi, young fellow, got you that time!” And Cheeky was 
lifted, fighting and scolding, into the light. 

This way and that he squirmed, trying to get his teeth 
into something besides cloth; but the fingers had grasped 
him just behind his hard little jaws, and Cheeky soon de¬ 
cided he hadn’t a chance. 

He glared suspiciously at the strange creature before 
him. She was dancing first on one foot and then on the 
other, making strange gurgling noises. 

“May I hold him?” crooned the child. “See, he isn’t even 
trying to bite! He’s tame already!” 

Cheeky’s brown eyes watched every move. He had 
never seen such a creature. He preferred to stay with the 
man who, while not exactly a friend, was at least not a 
stranger. Besides, Ring, the dog, was sniffing and whining 
beside her. Cheeky hadn’t forgotten his race with Ring 
across the prairie in the Old Pasture. 

“Take him carefully,” warned the man. “Hold him 
right behind his jaws and in front of his hind legs so he 
can’t bite or kick. He’s very strong.” 

“Let me go,” snapped Cheeky as he was placed in the 
child’s hands. He twisted and struggled until he knew it 
was of no use. 

“Poor little baby,” soothed Mary Ellen. “He isn’t a 
thieving rat at all, Daddy; he’s an honest little prairie dog 
and he wouldn’t steal anything.” 

Daddy laughed. “I’m willing to admit he is quite a 
respectable little fellow, but I’m afraid he would steal the 
corn I’ve planted in the Old Pasture.” 

Mary Ellen’s fingers were exploring Cheeky’s back, 
working around behind his ears and a queer thing was 

1341 



“Take him carefully,” warned the man 




happening to the tired little fellow! The fingers weren’t 
trying to kill or crush him; they were scratching, rubbing, 
working—giving him the most delicious sensation he had 
ever experienced! He stopped scolding and lay still. Why, 
he was even tempted to go to sleep! 

“See, Daddy,” murmured Mary Ellen, “he likes me al¬ 
ready. I’ll hold him while you fix a cage for him.” 

“Cheek-chuck,” muttered the prairie dog sleepily, then 
his eyes closed. Some time later, he was aroused. The 
fingers were opening—he was going to be free! Quick as 
thought, he leaped away, but again something stopped him; 
something that looked as fragile as blades of interwoven 
grass and yet it hurt his nose when he bumped against it. 

Again and again he tried, pushing and clawing in sud¬ 
den panic. He had been so sure he was going to be free! 
But Cheeky was quick to learn, and he soon decided that 
the wire was stronger than he. Then he began to look about. 

He found he was in quite a large cage with plenty of 
room to run around. The cage was enclosed on three sides, 
with wire across the front. In one corner he discovered a 
small box with a door just large enough to crawl through. 
He sniffed cautiously. It smelled like the man who had 
brought him. Still, the man had done him no hurt. 

“Might as well go in,” he decided. “Looks as if it might 
be a good place to hide until I can get away and go to 
Rocky Hill.” 

Cheeky was hungry—so very hungry that he couldn’t 
rest, and in a very short time he was poking his nose out 
of his new home. There was nobody in sight, and he decided 
to look for food. 

Ah, there it was, right in a corner of his cage! Here was 
[ 36 ] 


something that reminded him of the smell that used to 
tickle his nose back in the Old Pasture! It was a kind of 
grain, too, that Cheeky found very sweet and satisfying. 
He ate as fast as he could, not forgetting, however, to sit 
up straight and keep watch all the time he was stuffing 
oatmeal between his busy little jaws. 

At a sound close by, he darted back to his bedroom. 
“Look, Mother,” called the voice of Mary Ellen, “he has 
eaten every bit of the oatmeal and most of the alfalfa!” 

“Good. I am sure you needn’t worry about his being 
too timid to eat.” 

Mary Ellen laughed. “I’ll be more apt to worry about 
the stomach ache he is going to have tonight.” 

As soon as he was sure they were gone, Cheeky crept 
back to the pile of alfalfa, where he ate and ate until his 
bulging sides could hold no more. Then he crawled back 
to his bedroom and slept like a top. His coat was dry, his 
nest warm and quiet. Once in the night he heard Ring- 
barking close by, but he dreamed he was at home in the Old 
Pasture and he knew no dog could reach him there; so he 
just twitched his ears and went on dreaming. 




CHAPTER SEVEN 

Truly the great shining claw had turned Cheeky’s world 
upside down. He was no longer free. He clawed and bit 
and tore at the wire in the front of his cage until at last 
he decided it couldn’t be broken. Then he tried to gnaw 
through the wooden box but there wasn’t a corner where 
he could get a start. 

Every day Mary Ellen came to visit him and she did 
bring the most interesting things to eat—things Cheeky 
had never heard of from any of his ancestors back in the 
Old Pasture. The sound of her voice was pleasant, too. 
Indeed, her coming was the one bright spot in the long 
lonesome day, and he always greeted her with a joyful little 
“cheek-chuck!” 

One day a hand came through the hole in the top of the 
cage. Cheeky darted into the farthest corner and tried to 
get to his bedroom but the reaching fingers barred his way. 

“Gro away!” he barked. “Gto away, I say!” 

[ 38 ] 








“Now, Cheeky,” Mary Ellen soothed, “you ought to 
know by this time that I wouldn’t hurt you. Come, let me 
scratch your ears. Don’t you remember!” 

Cheeky flattened himself tensely against the wall of the 
cage. “If you try to catch me, I’ll bite,” he threatened. 

Still the fingers came nearer; they touched his side, his 
neck, his ears—rubbing and scratching just as they had 
done the day he was caught. 

Cheeky’s angry barking quieted until it was nothing 
but a grumble. Soon it stopped entirely. Slowly he relaxed 
until at last he turned his head to show her where he liked 
best to be scratched—the place that he simply never could 
reach for himself. Her voice soothed him, just as his 
mother’s gentle crooning had done, when he was a baby at 
home in his nest of dried grass. All the time the fingers 
were rubbing and pinching and pulling until Cheeky was 
tingling with delight. 

At last he even let her reach under his chin to scratch 



his throat—the place that every wild animal knows must 
be protected. He did try to scold at first, but that particular 
spot had never been scratched except by Cheeky’s own hind 
foot, and fingers were much more satisfactory. 

One day, Mary Ellen picked him up. Cheeky fought at 
first because he never could forget what his mother had 
told him about being picked up by Hungry Hawk. He crept 
cautiously about in the little girl’s lap as she sat on the 
floor beside his cage. 

“Perhaps it’s my chance,” he thought. “Perhaps I can 
get away at last.” 

He ran all about the woodshed; but the door was closed 
and the window too high. However, Cheeky wasn’t going 
to be miserable about it. There were many interesting 
places to explore. In fact, Cheeky didn’t believe in being 
miserable anyway. 

After that, he was no longer kept in his cage. One day 
Mary Ellen came to the door and called. Cheeky stopped 
gnawing on the corner of Father’s tool chest and with a 
happy little “cheek-chuck” came to meet her. She knelt 
down on the floor and Cheeky understood. Digging his 
sharp little claws into the cloth of her dress, he climbed 
straight up to her shoulder and cuddled down under her 
hair in the warm little place behind her ear. 

“Scratch my chin,” he ordered and he rubbed it against 
her shoulder so that she couldn’t possibly misunderstand. 

Mary Ellen paid no attention. Cheeky studied the situa¬ 
tion. She was eating—and he wanted to eat, too. He always 
wanted to eat. Slipping down into her lap, he poked his 
greedy little nose under her hand. 

“No Cheeky,” she told him, “it’s molasses taffy and you 


[40] 


wouldn’t like that. Besides, Mother says you’ve been get¬ 
ting too much to eat lately—too much cake and raisins! 
You’re terribly fat.” She scratched his stomach. “Just see 
how your stomach sticks out. How could you hope to heat 
El Coyote in a race 1 ?” 

Still Cheeky insisted. The smell of molasses taffy was 
delightful. Finally he nipped her finger to make her 
understand. 

Mary Ellen laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be sorry, Cheeky 
dear, and if you are, remember, I warned you.” 

She bit off a big piece and laid it before him. Without 
even a “thank you,” he snatched it up and stuffed it into 
his mouth. 

“Oh, Cheeky,” gasped Mary Ellen, “that was too much 
for one bite! I hope you don’t choke!” 

Cheeky’s teeth were long, his jaws very strong, and 
when he bit into that taffy, he bit hard. It was most sur¬ 
prising. 

“Cheek, cheek, cheek,” he stuttered in a muffled voice 
as he tried in vain to open his mouth wider and so pull the 
candy loose from his teeth. 

Mary Ellen laughed. He did look funny with his impu¬ 
dent little mouth gummed shut for once. “Do let me help 
you,” she begged. 

Cheeky backed away, clawing at his mouth and shouting 
through his nose all the angry words he could think of. 
Twisting his head first to one side and then the other, he 
fought and raged until at last the candy worked loose. 
When it had finally melted from his teeth, he walked back 
to his corner behind the tool chest and nothing not even 
the smell of raisins—could coax him to come out. 

[ 41 ] 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


Cheeky couldn’t hold a grudge. He was quick-tempered 
and ready to quarrel with anybody, but his memory was 
short; and it’s hard to stay angry under these conditions. 
By the time the sweet taste was gone from his mouth, he 
had forgotten all about molasses taffy. 

Mary Ellen returned after lunch. Father came with her. 

“Daddy,” said the little girl as Cheeky came running to 
meet them, “do you think he’d run away if we let him out?” 

“I think not,” Father replied. “Prairie dogs seldom 
wander far from home. They know their enemies are al¬ 
ways lurking about.” 

Mary Ellen considered. “Do you suppose Ring or Pus- 
sums would catch him, thinking he was a rat?” 

Father laughed and reached his hand down to Cheeky. 
“This young fellow is so independent and short-tempered 
that I think he is quite capable of taking care of himself. 
“Let’s see what Ring thinks of him.” 

He lifted the prairie dog into his arms and whistled. 
Cheeky’s heart skipped a heat as Ring bounded into the 
shed. The dog sniffed inquiringly, then barked as if to say, 
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” 

[42] 


Father put Cheeky down on the floor. Ring stiffened, 
started forward, then stopped so suddenly that he nearly 
tumbled on his nose. He had expected the prairie dog to 
dart away, as he had done in the Old Pasture, and Cheeky 
hadn’t moved, except to sit up on his hind legs and stare. 

Cheeky had grown since he came, and he was now as 
large as a half grown cat. He braced himself against his 
stumpy brown tail and called Ring all the unpleasant names 
he could remember. 

Ring bounded clumsily around the little creature and 
barked excitedly. 

“Go away,” barked Cheeky in reply, always keeping his 
face toward the dog. “Go away, I tell you!” 

At last Ring lay down, his head on his paws, and began 
to edge closer. Cheeky stopped scolding. Ring squirmed 
forward, inch by inch. Still Cheeky said nothing. Gaining 
courage, the dog pushed himself almost close enough to 
sniff Cheeky’s blunt little nose. He had chased prairie dogs 
often but he had never managed to get close enough to 
feel really acquainted. 

He whined nervously and lifted his nose. Suddenly the 
game ended. Cheeky, gaining courage from the dog’s uncer¬ 
tainty, decided to take matters into his own hands. He gave 
one sharp little “cheek-chuck” that was positively startling 
in the tense stillness. Just as he barked, he leaped—straight 
at Ring’s inquiring nose. Cheeky’s claws were long and 

sharp. 



Ring jumped back with a yelp of pain and surprise. 
Howling like a puppy, his tail between his legs, he dashed 
through the door and the sight of him was enough to make 
any prairie dog chuckle, which was precisely what Cheeky 
did. 

Father was chuckling, too. “I think we needn’t worry 
about that young fellow’s taking care of himself.” He 
walked out of the woodshed, leaving the door wide open. 

Cheeky crept to the threshold, sat up and looked all 
around—at the tall cottonwoods, the tamarack hedge and 
the big house just in front of him. Some chickens were 
scratching in a corner of the yard. Cheeky had never seen 
them before. 

“Not hawks,” he decided, “they’re much too small. I 
won’t even notice them, unless I decide to chase them 
away.” 

He continued to look. Rocky Hill was nowhere in sight. 
Well, no matter! There was much to be seen right here. 
Cheeky jumped down the step and proceeded to investi¬ 
gate. He started across the yard, then stopped to look 
about. El Coyote was no where to be seen. Hungry Hawk 
was not in the sky. At last he went on, past the wood pile, 
and the pump, and clambered up the three steps to the back 
porch. Ring was lying beside the door, keeping very quiet. 
At Cheeky’s approach, he got up and walked away as 
quickly as possible. 

Cheeky, however, wasn’t looking for trouble. He never 
did. He just wanted to investigate his new surroundings. 
Back down the steps he went. In front of the house, he 
found the most beautiful patch of luscious green grass. 
Um-m, it was fun to pluck it from the roots and sit up in 
the bright sunshine to eat. 


[44] 


“Better than Rocky Hill,” he chattered to himself. “I’ll 
make my home right here.” 

Mary Ellen knelt down beside him. “Come, Cheeky, 
aren’t you about ready to come home?” 

Cheeky was excited. “Let me alone,” he snapped, and 
slipped away from her with surprising quickness. 

He wandered about until he was tired, and then decided 
to look for a place to rest. The sunshine was delightful, 
and Cheeky loved to run about in it, but no intelligent 
prairie dog would think of lying down to sleep, except 
under cover. 

On the side of the front porch, he spied a hole where a 
board had been removed. 

“Looks cool and dark,” he thought, “I’ll just go in and 
take a nap.” 

But once he got in, the hole was surprisingly large. It 
would never do to go to sleep without making sure it was 
safe. El Coyote might he lurking in just such a place. 

Suddenly something moved. A strange, black creature, 
the like of which Cheeky had never seen before, rose to 
her feet and faced him. It was Pussums, the big black cat, 
that kept the rats and mice away! 

She crouched, her yellow eyes gleaming. Cheeky pre¬ 
tended to take no notice of her. 

The cat crept nearer, and Cheeky decided that every¬ 
thing was not as it should be. She was, he knew, a much 
more dangerous foe than Ring, for in her eyes was the 
glare of the killer. Cheeky’s sharp little tongue was silent 
and when he didn’t scold, the situation was indeed serious! 
He sat up and waited, his bright eyes watching every move. 

Pussums was coming closer, crouching so low that the 
[ 45 ] 


silky black of her stomach dragged on the ground. Her 
yellow eyes glowed, her tail switched from side to side. 

Still Cheeky didn’t move. Pussums patted the ground 
with her hind feet as she gathered herself for the spring. 
Suddenly she stopped. There was something queer about 
a rat that didn’t try to get away—a rat that just sat up 
and watched. She flicked a silky black ear and hesitated. 

Cheeky was quick to sense the fact that Pussums was 
just the least bit uncertain. He wasn’t just being fool¬ 
hardy when he sat up and waited instead of running 
away. He was wise with the wisdom of all of his ancestors. 
He knew he had very short legs and he knew Pussums 
could run much faster than he. Truest of all, he knew 
that when there is no chance to escape, it is much better 
to meet danger face to face, than to have it catch up with 
you when your back is turned. He had waited for this 
very minute. 

Pussum’s eyes wavered; instantly into Cheeky’s there 
flashed a joyous, angry light. Everything was still. In 
that moment, Cheeky barked—a short, sharp challenge. 
There was a flash of brown, faster than the eye could 
follow. 

For an instant, the cat was too surprised to move. It 
was enough. Cheeky’s sharp little claws reached her soft 
pink nose. There was an ear-splitting yowl—a hiss and a 
streak of black! Pussums leaped back, flashed past Cheeky, 
raced across the lawn, never stopping until she was safe 
in the branches of the old cottonwood. 

Cheeky chuckled in great contentment; he looked 
about to make sure there were no more cats under the 
porch, smoothed his stiff brown fur, and curled up in a 
corner to sleep. 


[ 46 ] 



CHAPTER NINE 

Cheeky was lonesome. He missed his friends of Dog 
Town. He was a full-grown prairie dog now, much larger 
than others of his kind, for he had been fed most gener¬ 
ously. Of course, he loved Mary Ellen for all the nice 
things she did to make him happy; but that empty feeling 
in his heart kept coming back to torment him, no matter 
how many raisins he ate. 

He loved to tease poor old Ring and he enjoyed sneak¬ 
ing up behind Pussums as she took her morning nap on 
the back porch. His sharp little “cheek-chuck always 
sent her into the air, tail bristling and ears laid back. 

Still, Cheeky was lonesome for somebody who could 
speak his own language. One day he got into the house 
and decided it was much better than the woodshed. Mary 
Ellen’s mother didn’t seem pleased. 

[ 47 ] 


“I can’t have that noisy little creature in the house,” 
she said. “Do take him out, Mary Ellen.” 

The little girl took him to the door and placed him out¬ 
side. For a moment, Cheeky didn’t understand; then he 
stood up and peered through the screen. 

“Let me in,” he shouted. “Come and open the door!” 

Nobody came. He shouted again. Then he dug his 
claws into the screen and climbed to the very top. There 
he hung, scolding and chattering until Mother called Mary 
Ellen. 

The little girl sat down on the porch step. “Why 
Cheeky,” she said, “how you do talk! Come here and see 
what I have in my pocket.” 

Cheeky worked his way down from the screen but he 
was still provoked. “You didn’t let me in,” he grumbled 
as he clambered into her lap. 

Then he smelled something and his grievance was for¬ 
gotten. Munching part of a cookie, he was carried to the 
garden and left alone before he had time to realize that 
Mary Ellen had played a trick on him. The matter wasn’t 
settled yet. 

Indeed, it wasn’t settled until Mother, realizing that 
a little noise was easier to bear than a lot, was influenced 
by his scolding, and allowed him to come and go as he 
pleased. Mary Ellen always carried him out to the wood¬ 
shed at bedtime, however, and Cheeky knew as well as she 
when it was nine o’clock. He would kick and squirm and try 
to get out of her hands. 

One evening, he decided not to go. For an hour he had 
played or lain in Mary Ellen’s lap. When Father got up to 
wind the clock, Cheeky was nowhere to be seen. The little 

[ 48 ] 


girl called, but there was no answer. The prairie dog had 
made up his mind that a lonely woodshed was no place to 
spend the night. Of course he heard Mary Ellen calling 
and hunting, but he knew what she wanted, and he knew 
what he wanted, too. Even when she moved the couch and 
found him, he kept perfectly still until she touched him. 

“Go away,” he snapped; “can’t you see I’m sleeping?” 

The little girl caught him expertly behind the ears for 
she knew that when Cheeky was in this mood, he would 
probably do more than scold. 

“You won’t find me tomorrow,” he threatened as Mary 
Ellen carried him out of the house. “I’ll hide in a different 
place.” 

So the game started. Every night he would disappear, 
just as Father was winding the clock. Every night he chose 
a different hiding place, and every night Mary Ellen 
dragged him out. 

One evening, there were guests. Cheeky had a glor¬ 
ious time! At last he grew tired and wandered away into 
the darkened bedroom to rest. Mother had turned the 
blankets down, ready for Mary Ellen. At the foot of the 
bed they hung close to the floor, and Cheeky clawed his 
way up. 

He clambered about over the bed and poked his nose 
under the lifted blanket. Not a hole, exactly, but why 
couldn’t one make a bedroom out of it? 

He pushed in farther. He found it warm and cozy- 
much better than his own pile of straw in the woodshed. 
On he crept, feeling all the time more pleased with him¬ 
self. “I’ll just settle down here for the night,” he decided. 
“She can never find me here.” 

[ 49 ] 


That was a very satisfying thought, for it was raining 
hard and the sound of water running down the gutter pipes 
always reminded Cheeky of the flood. He wanted to shut 
out that sound. 

He didn’t hear Mary Ellen call that night. The truth 
of the matter was, she forgot. That is to say, she forgot 
until she pushed her cold toes down between blankets that 
were surprisingly warm; pushed until she felt something 
that moved. Then she realized she would have to be care¬ 
ful where she put her feet. 

“Cheeky,” she gasped and sat up again. “Cheeky, how 
ever did you get in here?” 

Cheeky made no reply. She hadn’t found him with her 
hands, so perhaps she hadn’t found him at all. He would 
just go hack to sleep. 

The little girl considered. “I’ll have to get up and take 
him out,” she thought to herself. 

She listened to the rain against the window and shiv¬ 
ered. “Poor little fellow! He does hate to hear it rain!” 

Cheeky settled himself more comfortably. Mary Ellen 
slipped back against her pillow. In a minute they were 
both sound asleep. 








Rhodie, the big Rhode Island Red hen, had stolen her 
nest. That doesn’t mean she had taken something that 
didn’t belong to her. It means that she had made a nest 
under the plum bushes or far hack in the straw stack 
where she was sure Mary Ellen wouldn’t think to look for 
it. Every day she would come from behind the hedge, 
cackling importantly about her secret. Finally she dis¬ 
appeared and everybody forgot about her. 


CHAPTER TEN 


One day, just three weeks later, she came clucking 
into the yard with a brand new family, a dozen little golden 
yellow chicks, that toddled clumsily after their mother, 
keeping up a constant chorus of cheeping. 

Rhodie was twice her natural size, for her feathers 
were all fluffed out and her wings were down as she tried 
to watch in every direction at once. 

Cheeky saw Rhodie and her new family first. He was 
sitting on the lowest step of the back porch, dreaming of 
the games he used to play with his friends back in the 
Old Pasture. 

Hens—he had never cared for them! In fact, he often 
ran at them just to hear the silly racket they made. They 
were stupid and cowardly. But this new family—well, it 
might prove interesting. 

Cheeky dropped to the ground and approached. Rhodie 
saw him and called her babies under her wings. He sat up 
and waited. Of course Rhodie forgot all about him, just 
as he had expected her to do. Hens were so silly. When the 
chickens ventured out again, Cheeky crept closer. Rhodie 
saw him and cackled a bit; but, after all, she had seen him 
many times in the barnyard. 

Suddenly the prairie dog had a bright idea. “At last,” 
he thought, “I have found somebody to play with!” 

He ran up behind the nearest chick, poked his nose 
under its plump little body and lifted. Down went the 
chicken on its back in the dust! 

“Cheeup, cheeup, cheeup,” it cried. 

Rhodie came running, furious and threatening, as the 
chicken regained its feet. Cheeky sat up and watched, 

[ 52 ] 


fairly chuckling with delight. Of course Rhodie didn’t 
blame him; she was too stupid. 

When the excitement had passed, he tried it again. 
Down went the chick and by the time his excited mother 
arrived, Cheeky was sitting just as she had seen him last 
—an innocent bystander. It was the most fun he had had 
since the shining claw tore up his home in the Old Pasture. 

Finally, however, he began to grow careless. He grew 
more and more careless, in fact, until at last he was running 
from one chicken to another, upsetting them faster than 
they could right themselves. It made a terrible racket— 
chickens cheeping and Rhodie clucking and cackling and 
rushing, first one way and then another. Suddenly Rhodie 
realized what it was all about. 

The game changed. For one astonished moment, 
Cheeky couldn’t imagine what was happening. It was just 
as if Hungry Hawk had tumbled out of a perfectly empty 
sky. He was fairly smothered in feathers and dust. 
Rhodie’s sharp beak came down on his fat little hack 
bang, bang, bang! 

He tried to kick, to bite—but there was nothing to fight 
but feathers! Feathers got into his mouth and nose and 
nearly choked him; while all the time Rhodie s beak rained 
a perfect hail storm of blows! 

It wasn’t a fair fight, certainly not! Rhodie had given 
him no warning. How was he to know that chickens didn t 
like to play games'? 

It couldn’t last long. Cheeky finally managed to scram¬ 
ble away. Through the yard he ran, up the steps, across 
the porch, never stopping until he had climbed to the top 
of the screen. 


[ 53 ] 



CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Cheeky was more lonesome than ever. He dared not 
play in the chicken yard any more. Pussums always 
arched her back and made terrible noises whenever lie 
came near. He tried to make friends with Ring as soon as 
he was sure that the good-natured old dog was not like 
his cousin, El Coyote. 

At first Ring didn’t trust him and the hair on his neck 
bristled when Cheeky tried to play. Then gradually he 
became accustomed to the prairie dog and paid no atten¬ 
tion to him. But they could never become close friends. 
Cheeky’s temper was too short. When the game became a 
bit too rough, he would rush at Ring, scolding furiously. 
Ring, remembering his first meeting, would lick his 
scarred nose and run away. 

[ 54 ] 




Ring would Vick lus scarred nose cmd rum away 


Cheeky’s temper didn’t improve as he grew older. Per¬ 
haps that was because he was lonesome or perhaps it was 
because he ate too much. 

One morning, for no reason that he could see, Mary 
Ellen carried him to the woodshed. She cuddled him un¬ 
der her chin as she took him to his prison. 

“I’m sorry, Cheeky dear,” she murmured against his 
fat little neck, “you know you are such a nuisance. Great- 
aunt Mary Ellen is a very important person, and she is 
coming to visit. She doesn’t know anything about prairie 
dogs, and I’m sure she wouldn’t like you.” 

She placed him on the floor and closed the door against 
his outraged protests. 

“Open the door,” he shouted. “It isn’t bedtime! I won’t 
stay in this shed!” 

When he was very sure she had gone away, Cheeky 
stopped scolding. There was nothing to do, nothing to eat. 
He thought about his friends on Rocky Hill. They were 
free. Sometimes, in the night, when he heard El Coyote 
howling close by, he was glad he was safe in the woodshed. 

Hungry Hawk never came very near to the house. That 
was a blessing, certainly. Still, it wasn’t the natural way 
for a prairie dog to live. Danger was part of life and he 
missed that, too. 

Sometimes, when the wind blew from the west, he 
caught the faint sharp fragrance of sage and his heart 
ached with longing. He would have welcomed a short race 
with El Coyote and the thrill that came when he kicked 
his heels together and plunged to safety through the front 
door of his own home. 

His eyes closed. What was the use of staying awake? 

[ 56 ] 


He wanted somebody to talk to; most of all, he wanted to 
talk to somebody who spoke his own language. 

He dozed all morning because there was nothing to 
wake up for. Then suddenly there was! The door opened. 
Father came in. Cheeky greeted him joyously. 

“Well, young fellow, somebody must have shut you in 
here by mistake! Want to come out?” 

Did he want to come out! He “cheek-chucked” triumph¬ 
antly as he clambered over the sill, then hurried around 
the house to that luscious patch of green grass in the front 
yard. 

A big, shiny car was just turning into the driveway. 
Cheeky sat up and watched. He had never seen anything 
so large that moved. This was something that was entirely 
too big to be scolded; but so long as it didn’t chase him, 
he would be safe in watching it, especially if he sat close 
to the hole under the front porch. 

Mary Ellen came running out of the house. A man in a 
gray cap was helping Great-aunt Mary Ellen out of the car. 
She wore a rustling black dress. Her mouth was very stiff 
as if it had been starched. 

She kissed Mary Ellen. The little girl hoped she was 
well. The old lady smiled—a very starchy smile—and 
thanked her. Together they walked toward the house. 
Cheeky followed without a sound. Mary Ellen opened the 
door for the old lady to enter. Without a sound Cheeky, 
close against the folds of the long black dress, slipped 
through the door and under the couch without anybody’s 
knowing he was there. 

“Much easier than climbing up on the screen door and 
shouting myself hoarse,” he chuckled; “or gnawing on the 
corner until somebody decides to let me in. 

[ 57 ] 



He sniffed the warm fragrant air from the kitchen, 
heavy with sugar and spice—things that Cheeky dearly 
loved. There was much talking and walking back and 
forth from kitchen to dining room. 

“I’ll wait until everybody sits down,” Cheeky decided. 
“Mary Ellen will give me dessert under the table.” 

He hadn’t long to wait. Father came in, and Mary Ellen 
led the old lady to her chair. Cheeky followed close behind 
that long black skirt. He hadn’t been invited, but he knew 
he was expected because he always came. 

He sat down to wait. People always ate first the things 
that Cheeky didn’t like. His turn came with dessert— 
things made with sugar and fruit. 

At last he began to grow impatient. They were having 
his favorite fruit cake. Cheeky could smell it. Mary Ellen 
had dropped a few crumbs, not nearly as many as she usu¬ 
ally did. Great-aunt Mary Ellen had some in her lap. 
Cheeky saw them fall. 

“I won’t wait any longer,” he decided. “I’ll climb up 
into her lap and help myself. I’ll surprise her.” 

[ 58 ] 



His claws made a scratchy sound against the heavy silk. 
Great-aunt Mary Ellen stirred and lifted her napkin. She 
certainly was surprised! She took one look at Cheeky’s 
bright little eyes, shoved her chair back from the table, 
lifted her hands high above her head, and screamed! 

Cheeky poked his nose back under the napkin and lis¬ 
tened serenely to shriek after shriek. For all he knew she 
might be singing. When the crumbs were finished, he 
pushed the napkin to one side and climbed swiftly up her 
waist, intent on reaching the cozy place under her ear. 

“Scratch my chin,” he barked, trying to make himself 
heard above the uproar. “Scratch my chin, I say!” 

Then, just as Cheeky poked his impudent little nose un¬ 
der the old lady’s back hair, Mary Ellen caught him. 
Snatching him from the quivering black silk shoulder, she 
carried him out of the house, straight to the woodshed. 
There she dropped him most urgently, and went out and 
slammed the door. 




CHAPTER TWELVE 

Cheeky was too surprised to speak. Mary Ellen had 
never treated him roughly before. By the time he had 
made up his mind to scold, he knew she was back in the 
house, and he might as well save his breath. 

He could hear the excitement, for everybody was talk¬ 
ing at once, Great-aunt Mary Ellen’s voice loudest of all. 
Then out to the car they went, and it drove away much 
faster than it had come. 

It seemed hours and hours before Mary Ellen came 
back. She didn’t call, she didn’t even answer when he 
greeted her. She just picked him up and her face was 
stained with recent tears. 


[ 60 ] 


“She won’t come back so long as you’re here, Cheeky,” 
the little girl whispered. “She told me so herself. And 
she may not invite me to visit her in the city next summer. 
Oh, Cheeky, didn’t I tell you she was a very important 
person?” 

Cheeky crept up to her shoulder. 

Mary Ellen continued, “She was terribly upset. I 
never saw her so angry before. I never dreamed she could 
scream so—so ear-splittingly!” 

Cheeky rubbed his nose against her neck, just as he had 
done to Great-aunt Mary Ellen and all at once the little 
girl giggled. “You didn’t really hurt her, Cheeky dear. 
I’ll n-never forget how funny she looked.” 

That was all. Cheeky forgave her when he found she 
had brought a whole pocketful of fruit cake. She held him 
in her lap while he ate; then she carried him through the 
yard and out of the back gate. On and on she walked, 
until at last they came to a field of waving green corn. 
Cheeky would never have dreamed it was the Old Pasture. 

As they walked across it, Mary Ellen spoke again. 
“They say you must go away, Cheeky dear. You’ve been 
a cunning pet, but they aren’t thinking about that now. 
They’re just remembering all the trouble you’ve caused. 
So—I’m afraid you’ll have to go.” 

Cheeky looked about. They had left the corn field and 
were climbing a hill—a low rocky hill! 

Prom behind a big cactus, sounded a familiar voice. 
“Cheek-chuck! Go away! Stay on your own side of the 
fence!” 

The little girl sat down on somebody’s front porch. 
“Good-by, Cheeky,” she whispered against his rough brown 

[ 61 ] 



neck. “I—I hope you won’t be too homesick. I’ll come 
every day and bring you raisins and cookies.” 

Cheeky sniffed the wild sweet fragrance of sage in 
bloom. 

He wasn’t listening. He had become wildly excited at 
the sound of that other voice, so like his own. 

“Let me go,” he chattered as he twisted himself out of 
her hands. 

He ran a short distance, then sat up and looked around. 
“Cheek-chuck,” he barked, but not in answer to Mary 
Ellen. 


[ 62 ] 




He sat up and looked around 



The little girl laughed. “Why, Cheeky, I don’t believe 
you’re going to be lonesome at all! You’re glad to be here! 
And you know so much and you’re so much larger than 
all the rest of your friends, I have no doubt that by this 
time tomorrow you’ll be mayor of Dog Town!” 

Mary Ellen was forgotten. Perhaps, when Cheeky grew 
tired of buffalo grass, he would remember the raisins and 
fruit cake. Perhaps, when El Coyote was howling on the 
top of the hill, he would long for his snug little bed in the 
woodshed. But he wasn’t remembering now. He had come 
home—home at last to Rocky Hill. 











































































































